


Girls und Abrams: Reloaded

by HumbleCommoner



Series: Girls und Abrams [2]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Army, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, Long-Distance Relationship, Marriage, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumbleCommoner/pseuds/HumbleCommoner
Summary: Captain Korra Sato-Waters is a simple woman of simple tastes, and a year of mostly blissful marriage hasn't changed that. She still loves three things in this world: Raava II, her now seventy-ton, armor-plated baby; a stiff drink with a few good friends; and her beautiful, brilliant wife. In other words, her life is pretty much perfect, at the moment.Or so it seems.Turns out, not all is fair in Love and War. It only takes a single call to turn their whole world on its head. One moment, she's planning a quiet anniversary dinner with Asami. A little food, a little wine, a little music. (Plus a little not-so-quiet fun once they're done with that.) The next, what looked like a simple overseas rotation is threatening to become anything but, with East Asia's tinderbox primed to go up in a firestorm. And someone's handed a madman a box of matches.It will take blood, sweat, and sacrifice before the two of them get to spend that quiet night together. But they will both fight tooth-and-nail to have it. Only problem is, will they still be the same people when they do?
Relationships: Baatar Jr./Kuvira (Avatar), Korra/Asami Sato
Series: Girls und Abrams [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136489
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Girls und Abrams: Reloaded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter is a little wordy. It's been awhile and I'm pretty out of practice. Plus, I no longer have an editor to keep me in check, so please be kind.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It's a morning just like any other.

Wake up, still tired and sore from yesterday. A dull ache that permeates her body down to the bone. Throbbing. Pulsing with her heartbeat, every muscle strained, every joint inflamed and stubbornly locked in place. Unable to move, and equally unwilling.

The bed was soft.

Warm.

Clean.

Safe.

So unlike where she'd been laying moments earlier, trapped in that hellish nightmare. Back on that hard-pack desert track, skin boiling, ears ringing, vest in tatters. Precious rifle nowhere to be seen. Nor her squadmates. Only choking dust and neon tracers. Confused shouts amid the mortar bombs, whizzing shrapnel, and cries of pain she only later realized were her own. Being dragged through the sand, but only thinking of the friend that had vanished in a flash.

_ Stop! _

_ Breathe… _

Long and slow, in and out. Just like the shrink had taut her those long years ago. Go to a happy-place, which, ironically, is exactly where Korra finds herself.

There's a weight beside her on the mattress. Snuggled close as possible, snoring softly, breath still minty from her favorite toothpaste (brand-name, of course). Little breaths that tickle the Captain's nose with every exhale. Crack her eyes a fraction to see that familiar sleeping face, serene and beautiful. Scrubbed clean of diesel fumes and the daily grime, tousled hair over much of it; unkempt, uncombed, and wild. Like she'd fallen straight from the shower and into bed, too tired to bother with all the other steps in her usual routine.

Asami's presence is comforting, and grounding. Something to distract her while the memory of that terrible day starts fading into this. One that's new, untapped, and brimming with possibilities. With at least one happy moment already in the bag.

Roll over, check the clock.

**_0500_ **

Up before the dawn, again. Just like every morning for the last few weeks.

Slowly, and oh-so cautiously, the officer extracts herself from the mess of sheets, swinging her legs over the side. Rise in silence. Bare feet on hardwood, snapping up her phone and earbuds along the way. Tuck them in a pocket as she tiptoes through the darkened bedroom. Dodge the creaky board, discarded house-shoes, and a soggy towel that makes her wince at just the sight of it.

_ Keep going… _

_ Just keep walking... _

Stop. Look back. Then double back and seize the litter.

Take a detour to the master bath, tossing the offending article in the proper hamper. Next, take a good long look at herself in the mirror, shake her head, and sigh. In lieu of seeking help for her obsessions, freshen up: hands, face, teeth. Faucet running at a trickle, caught in a cupped palm. Swish and spit without a sound. Keep flashing glances out the sliver between door and frame, ears straining for the slightest sound of someone stirring, hearing nor seeing none.

Clean up. Wipe down, light off, door open. Mental note to oil the hinges, another for the leaky shower-head. Then out into the inky hallway and a bit of extra leeway for noise.

In under a minute, she's downstairs. Wading through the cluttered hell that was the livingroom. Enemy territory. Long abandoned to them, tables brimming with trade magazines and newspapers, books piled in haphazard stacks on any unclaimed real-estate. The odd discarded spoon, here and there. A wrapper that  **_just_ ** missed the nearby garbage can.

Without a bag.

They'd had that fight, already, almost two years ago. Only days after moving in. All the stresses of unpacking, allocating space, discarding excess, had boiled over one evening. And Korra lost. Ceded this place in exchange for the upstairs, and her precious laundry-hamper.

Nothing to do but pinch her nose and bear it, count down the days until Asami's monthly purge. That blissful week when all would be clean and orderly, once more.

To the kitchen, half-renovated, with an odd mixture of new appliances and old linoleum.

_ Coffee. _

Every day's first objective.

Bow and worship at the caffeine alter. Two scoops of grounds in a double filter, musical sound of water filling the carafe, followed by the hiss of a scalding hotplate against stray droplets clinging to the underside. Impatient as the pump spits and gurgles, thumb orbiting the rim of a pre-staged mug. Fingers drum against the counter. Bending down to judge if the first helping was ready, yanking it the moment after. Harsh snap of hot liquid on the cube of ice. Counting down, next gulping down. Repeat the same as needed. Half a pot gone before she can even think of something else. Or think at all, for that matter.

_ Exercise. _

Crunches, situps, squats, lunges. Presses until stiff arms begin to wobble. Skipping rope for as long as bare feet would allow. Click, click, click off the pavers. Flick beads of sweat from her brow, heavy breaths drawn in and out. Gasps of humid morning air. A few minutes for her heart to settle, before, with stomach growling, she retreats from the concrete patio.

_ Breakfast. _

Most important meal of the day, and the one Korra misses most often, nowadays. Unless you count toaster pastries or stale donuts swiped from the Battalion CP. Those lucky days when there's leftover pizza in the Company fridge, off-brand Sunny D, and a two-thirds brown banana.

What she needs is something heavy. Fried eggs and bacon, whole wheat toast slathered with butter and strawberry jam. Or an omelet with all the fixings in the fridge.

Time to rummage: half-empty carton, last splashes of milk, cheddar block starting to crack and harden. Tomatoes, mushrooms, spinach. The other half of last night's onion. Slice and dice the veggies while the pans start warming, pork fat crackling on contact. Brown the butter and dash the eggs. Sprinkle some fresh-ground pepper in the batter.

Suddenly, all is dark, a pair of hands over her eyes. “Guess who?”

“Hmm, is it the Swedish beach-volleyball team?”

“Better.”

_ I'll say _ , she thinks as she spins/is spun around, right into a first morning kiss. Soft as gossamer against her lips, more refreshing than a summer breeze. Those green eyes that make her dumb and giddy when they meet hers. Her sleepy smile, oversized shirt, and gentle embrace.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

“I could say the same to you,” the sergeant whispers, smirking, leaning in to inhale her morning exercise. Nose wrinkling a moment later, clashing with the little uptick in her smile. “Sorry I missed dinner, last night. Again.”  _ For the third night in a row. _

“It's okay.”

“I'm forgiven? You're too good to me.”

“Sometimes,” shrugs the officer, stealing another kiss, “Hungry?”

Another upward tick. “For your cooking? Always.”

Brushing off the slightly sly comment, Korra frees herself from Asami's clutches, occupying her with an empty mug. Glass clinks on glass as the Captain swaps pans. Bacon to the scalded butter, eggs into the freshly greased. Deflate bubbles as the food pops and sizzles. Nod along to the music playing in one ear, adding veggies and grating cheese, lips mouthing the words of her favorite tracks. And the few pop-y songs Asami's snuck through her rigorous standards.

Return of the hug. Loose, one-handed, unobtrusive. Making up for lost movie-night snuggling, she suspects. All the more welcome as she can steal sips from her wife's mug as they're offered.

Ding goes the toast. But the gentle breaths against her neck remain, slow and calm, making all the little hairs there stand on end. Even as the bacon drains, the first omelet plated. No change. Only a reluctant shuffle to permit a refill of coffee for the both of them.

“I  **really** am sorry,” the NCO repeats in a more alert tone than before, “I know you went all out putting things together.”

_ Here we go… _

Set everything down, kill the burners.

Turn to look the Sergeant in the eye. See the sincerity, a touch of sadness. How stressed and tired she was behind those luscious lashes. “Don't worry about it.”

“Korra...”

“Asami, it was just soup and a movie. That's all you missed.”

“I missed you,” her love points out, swinging the 'argument' back in her favor at a stroke. Winning it with her returning smile. With a second kiss, soft and sweet. “Thank you for dinner. It was wonderful, and so were the flowers, and the chocolates, and the note...”

Kiss.

Kiss.

Kiss.

“Happy Anniversary.”

_ One year. _ It didn't feel like it. She could still feel that raw anxiety of the dressing-room in her heartbeat. The wild fear of walking down the aisle, cameras snapping, guests leering, shit-eaters grinning. Giddy joy on reaching the alter. That kiss, like this one, was still fresh against her lips. None of it had faded, every memory just as crisp as when they'd been formed.

So it was odd, yet also thrilling to reply back, “Happy Anniversary.”

Each of them takes a plate, some toast, a dollop of jam and other condiments. A bit of extra cheese for garnish. Dash of Tabasco for herself, squirt of ketchup for the wife.

_ To each their own. _

Sit down and stretch a hand across the gap. Fingers meeting, interweaving as they took a first bite of eggy goodness, molten cheddar mixing perfectly with fresh-cut veg. Just the right amount of fermented spice. Or corn syrup and vinegar, if you were a savage.

“You're getting pretty good at this,” says Asami with a dusting of breadcrumbs clinging to her lower lip. “First it was that pot-roast, and the homemade rolls. Last night was soup, salad, all the fixings. And now it's breakfast.” Another heaping bite, steaming mouthful overflowing on her fork. Chewing briskly. Gulping coffee while pinning half-eaten toast to the brim of her mug in lieu of setting it down for a single moment. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've been reading that cookbook your mom bought us when she visited.”

“Guilty as charged.” Smile back at her smile. Chase an onion across the plate. Hunt it with her fork, each attempt to spear it sending the morsel skipping through the puddled grease. “Thought you might enjoy something that didn't come out of a box, for a change.”

A brow raises, glint of mischief in the eye below. “Is that an accusation?”

“No.”

_ Yes. _

“Oh, I think it is,” the Staff Sergeant insists, feigning insult where there was none, “I'll have you know, Miss 'Kraft-is-healthy-without-butter', I was getting along just fine in the kitchen before you came along.”

_ Never said it was healthy. Just healthi- _ **_er_ ** _. _ “Sure you were.”

Fast as lightning, a hand darts across the table, swiping toast mid-smear of jam. Gobbled up just out of reach as the morning's cook looks on, helpless and amused. “Good. I'm glad we're in agreement,” Asami smirks, pleased with her little stunt. Even as Korra skewers the next bite of omelet right off her fork and snaps it up. “Isn't life easier when I'm right?”

“Heh, it sure is, babe.”

Breakfast slows. Stretches out as both women rise to fill their mugs, then refill the coffee-maker once it's empty. Long sips as they recount the trials of yesterday. Between bites of egg, Asami bemoans life under 'Lt. Prick', the new shavetail in town, and his seeming hard-on for making life miserable. If it wasn't endless hours of PT, it was the shirking of duties he was assigned. Mostly pushed off onto his subordinates, other officers, or left undone entirely.

Kinda puts the kibosh on her own gripes. Shifting deadlines, unruly soldiers, delayed meetings, imminent overseas rotation? Petty in the face of such incompetence.

“You know what he pulled yesterday?” the NCO asks, cheeks flushing with a mix of caffeine, anger and disbelief. “Sergeant Major came down to check on us. Asked a few questions, followed up on some things, made sure we were still on schedule for the move, right?”

_ Still waiting for the catch... _

Nothing unusual about the CSM doing the rounds, keeping everyone on their toes. Or with greenhorn officers throwing around more weight than they had sense.

“Okay… and?”

“Idiot ordered him to take his hat off.”

The fork slips from Korra's fingers, clattering off the plate below. “He did  **what** ?”

“Exactly. Take his hat-” Asami mimes, “off. Just came in, spotted the Old Man chatting with Benny and Mako like he always does, and made a beeline right for them.” She could see it now. That cocky bronze-bar strut, the ugly narcissistic sneer. “Started spouting off about being 'unprofessional' and 'non-regulation headwear'. Went about as well for him as you'd expect.”

“Fireworks?”

“Volcanic. Tore into him for almost twenty minutes.” Catch a twinkle of sadistic glee. Unlike her, and fleeting because of it. “I almost felt bad for the guy. Until Ripper left, and we all ended up dealing with the temper tantrum, on top all the other shit we had to get done.”

She sighs.

They both do.

One understanding, the other exhausted.

Winks, smiles, shrugs exchanged in the easy silence. “Hey, you know how this goes,” the officer assures, “Give him a few more months to figure things out. He'll calm down.”

She doesn't answer. Just nods, leaving the obvious unsaid:  _ You told me the same thing a few months ago. _

Another spoon of sugar in her mug. Stir, puff, sip. Using it to hide the simmering frustration on her face. Looking down while she orders thoughts, tamping down the righteous anger. Full mental reset. One purging breath, then back up with a beaming smile, a glint of optimism in her eyes. “Well, if things  **don't** end up working out, we can always throw him over the border,” the Sergeant says, a little too sincerely for an attempt at black humor, “I'm sure the DPRK would be happy to give him a guided tour. They're such friendly, welcoming people.”

Korra snorts. “Sure, they are.”

“And I hear Pyongyang is lovely this time of year.”

“I'm sure it is. You know, apart from the secret police, the forced-labor camps-”

“-the conveniently placed minefields.”

“Asami.”

“Hmm?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No murdering your platoon leader,” Captain Sato-Waters elaborates as she fights the urge to burst out laughing, “I don't care how lousy he is, or how mad he makes you, it's bad for unit cohesion. Besides, the paperwork is a nightmare.”

A chuckle from those lovely lips, “Who said anything about that? Your putting words in my mouth.”

“It's not all I'm gonna put in there, if you don't watch it.”

_ That… sounded better in my head. _

She catches green suns flash. Lids narrow; lashes flutter; lips open just a crack, puffing out a sultry fraction. “Oooo… Now, that sounds promising.” Nails slice into the rind of a palmed tangerine, prying peel from the juicy flesh within. “Does that mean you have something special planned for this evening?” her wife asks in a voice drifting between hopeful to seductive with every syllable. “Because, if you don't, I have a lot of work to do.”

“I can neither confirm, nor deny...” Korra teases, pelted by a rain of shredded zest from across the table. “Alright, enough. I thought I'd pick up some scallops on the way home.”

A brow raises, interest piqued. “And steaks?”

“We can split a ribeye.”

“Wine?”

“I'd prefer beer,” says the officer, shrugging, “Up to you.”

So, wine, in other words. And judging by the way that smile took on a wicked note, an obscenely expensive bottle of it.

Just like the television.

Their sheets.

_ The car. _

A wedge is delicately stripped from the rest, slid sensually (somehow) between the enlisted's cheddar-grease glistening lips, pearly teeth snapping shut behind it. She chews it, never breaking her gaze. Not even when a muffled crunch sounds as molars crush a hidden seed.

Unflinching, unwavering, and seemingly unblinking, those emerald irises do battle with dim cerulean in a test of wills. Attempting to pry forth a more… intimate itinerary.

When that fails, “What about after dinner?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

Dab lips on a napkin corner. “On whether I can find the dress, like you asked,” Korra replies, voice steady as the stare boring into her, “And if it still fits.”

In a blur of whipping midnight hair and discarded citrus, she's off, sprinting through the duplex with reckless disregard for their neighbor's morning. “I know where it is! I know where it is!!!” a jubilant Asami declares, vaulting perilous stacks of text like a crazed gymnast. Her toe just catches one, sending her, and the books sprawling, but she rebounds to her feet in an instant. Sprinting like a madwoman for the stairs, her battlecry: “We will  **_MAKE_ ** it fit!!!”

Captain Sato-Waters smiles, reaching across the table to claim her beloved's abandoned cup.

_ Sometimes, _ she muses,  _ it's just too easy. _

With a soundtrack of their closet being systematically dismantled ringing in her ears, Korra rises, gathers up the morning dishes, and deposits them in the sink. Plug the drain and turn the tap to start them soaking while she soaks herself. A perfect way to start out the morning right, and to distract herself from the mess being made of her well-ordered sorting system.

_ Oh well. No sense crying over spilled tubs _ , she thinks to herself, throwing a set of her finest ACU's over a shoulder. It never hurts to look good the day before you go on leave, after all.

And today, Korra knew, was going to be a very,  **very** good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my first official sequel. Feels strange. I'm sorry it took so long for me to post, but getting back into writing has been rough. Lots of banging my head against the wall to make square ideas for into round words.
> 
> That said, any constructive critiques, tips, or other comments are more than welcome. I live for feedback.


End file.
